Occupied
by C.S. Bascom
Summary: Ever wonder what would happen if your conscience, was, say, evil?


Occupied

There are some places that I fear to go. I am ashamed to admit, even to this day, that in my youth I wasn't afraid of going there. I hardly travel there anymore; to the fabled "darkest depths" of my mind, to His prison. But when I was young, only a stones throw away from my sweet sixteen, I went there often. I'm still ashamed of putting Him there. But sometimes, well, sometimes we all do what we have to do to survive.

It was a hectic time in my life, we had just recently moved from the country to a city. Though the city was not very large, being a county boy, each building was a colossus. When I had to find new friends, new daily rituals, and new everything else's, I became lost.

My thoughts turned inward. Once I found my center, my train of reasoning traveled, I could start to find peace and sense in the outside world. With that philosophy in mind, I would sit in my room. That sentence was not a fragment, I would merely sit in my room. The lights would be off, I would have music playing in my ear, and I would sit.

I would lie down too, sometimes.

Either way, I'd be at rest. And in this rested state I was free to wander the halls of my mind. I recalled a lot of memories then, some I didn't care to remember. They weren't memories, really, the term falls short of what these actually were. They were more like, retellings, or, living through the event again. My mother dropped me on my head when I was an infant, I didn't care to relive that one. But I did.

Some were pleasant, and these I often came back to. Like Christmas, I would always come back to the early morning feeling; the rushing mind of a young child full of anticipation as to what the colorful boxes in the other room held. The thrill of hearing your parents wake up, and, knowing the coast is clear, rushing out of hiding and hurling yourself at them; Tearing through the thin paper, and discovering a wealth of amusement that would last you a month or two, before they joined the ghosts of Christmas past in the closet.

I would do this often, I truly felt as if my center was getting closer every time I sat down and thought. I centered my attention on happier events, like the ones about Christmas, or getting my first bike, or Becky.

It didn't take me long until a girl at my new school caught my fancy. Her name was Becky, and often would her young face grace the halls of my mind. I would, almost everyday, relive the conversations we had together. But, almost as sudden as my whole venture into my mind had started, I found a problem. It was an alteration or two in the memory, one I knew didn't happen. Case and point, one conversation I had with Becky;

"Hey, Becky," I said, as calmly as I could. My heart could be heard beating in my throat.

"Hey Timothy," she said, walking closer to me.

"Don't call me Timothy," I corrected, playfully, "Call me Tim."

"Okay, Tim," she said, playfully making sure she got it right. "I'll see you around."

I would nod, and we would walk out separate ways. She and I only sat together at lunch, with the rest of her click.

But, upon my getting home and reliving it, the conversation went like this;

"Hey Becky," I said, same as before.

"Oh, Hi," she said, almost confused, almost disgusted.

"Its me, Tim," she looked at me with a perplexed gaze.

"I sit at your lunch table, remember?"

"Oh, you're that new kid." Her face gave a expression of sudden recognition.

"Yeah, the new kid." I would try and play around, but it wasn't working. After seeing it wasn't working, I woke myself up, and would think about something else.

For weeks, this would happen. And soon enough, what ever it was would enter my dreams, and play around with them. Once I had a typical mid-teen dream when I had been pleased with super powers. Just before I would apply the finishing blow to the evil character, he would jump up and kill me. The result would be me waking up, and cursing slightly under my breath, before rolling over and going back to bed.

After the most resent episode like this, I got up, and rubbed my eyes.

The clock said it was half past one. I fumbled for the lamp that stood at my bed side, and once it lit up, I started to think.

"How come, just as I was about to kill the last spider, and save Becky, a million just come from no where?" I asked myself, and at the same time, I thought, "It's only a dream, you can never predict what happens in dreams."

When the first thought finished, and that part of the brain registered what the other part had thought, the first part of my brain had another thought. "Wait, how can I be thinking two things at the same time?"

I got up, grabbed my music, and walked into the center of the room. I shut off all the lights, and let the music play softly. I relived the most recent dream, in which Becky was being held captive by giant spiders. And none other than I, the brave and powerful Tim, had to save her.

I retold it up to the point when the million reinforcement spiders came, when I stopped. Well, I didn't, but it was stopped. My body, which was by now very separated from its mind, twitched and fell over.

We were atop a tower, a dark tower, where I was fighting the spiders a moment before. "We" originally I referred to Becky and I. But just then, there was a third person there atop the quintessential evil tower. He spoke;

"Clever boy," he said. He sounded older, but looked my age. He was dressed nicely, and walked toward me with his hands behind his back. Sensing the obvious evil in the air about him, I lifted my sword and shield up, both were dripping giant spider blood.

"You climbed all the way up here, to save your Becky. You fought all those spiders, and then just here, you get killed. Oh well. Love sucks, doesn't it?" The kid was full of himself.

"Who are you?" I asked, standing tall. Some where in my dream there was a bolt of lighting, and rain accompanied the arrival of the thunder.

"I didn't expect you to get everything," he said, he stood close enough to have a normal conversation with, but he was shouting over the rain.

"My name isn't important, trust me, but I am merely your second soul. Your conscience, some call us, but really we're just the second soul you're given. You know, in case the first one is a bust? Now, I want out." He explained and demanded in the same tone.

"Um," I paused, some-what in disbelief, "No?"

"Now, what part didn't you understand?" He said. His hair clumped together in the rain in the same way I thought mine did. "Give me your body, and you get to hang out here." He extended his hands to show me the grandeur of the surrounding land; the top of a tall dark tower in the rain.

"Sorry," I laughed, this must all be a joke, a crazy dream. A very crazy bad dream. "I'm not going to just give you my body. I'm kinda using it."

"Tisk tisk," he said, shaking his head. "I hoped you'd just agree. We're gonna have to do things the hard way then." He said, in a cool voice.

The thought "Hard way?" danced in my head for a second, and just before it danced out onto the tip of my tongue and into the young man's ear, the young man was gripping my throat. He pulled me close. I was close enough to see that he looked exactly like the image I had of myself. He had one crucial difference, he had dark and menacing undertones. He and I were both soaked in the down-pour of rain.

"Give me your body!" The young man demanded, hissing an inch from my face. After the shock wore off, I used the shield I had, and knocked a corner into his rib, causing him to release me and topple over. I stood up and said, simply, but with courage, "No."

He straightened, his body was perpendicular to mine, his head rose slowly, and he turned it to face me. He spoke, softly, "Alright, the hard way."

The tower vanished, and so did Becky. The rain and the wind left with them. And so did the mysterious young man. I was still there, or maybe I had just gone and the rest was still there. Either way, the world was white, all white. It made me dizzy. I fell to a knee, and my head stopped swimming. I glanced down at myself, my sword and shield were still with me. I was dressed in leather armor, hardly any protection. I cleaned off my sword on my pants, and put in away in its sheath.

Presently, the void fell away, or reality came up, and I stood in an old forest. I got a grip, and saw the young man standing ten yards in front of me. Again, he spoke;

"Do you need a second?" he mocked my nausea, "Because I have all the time in the world," He started to walk closer. I drew my sword in defiance of his false generosity.

"Now, no need for that at the moment." He put up his hands, when I didn't move, he went on. "See, you and I live the same body. And for the past fifteen years you've been calling the shots, and all I'm asking for, is a turn. That's all."

"And how will I know you'll give me a turn later?"

"You're just going to have to trust me," a wry smile grew on the young man's face.

"Trust a kid who won't even tell me his name?"

"You got that from a book." He pointed out. "I know a lot about you," he stopped, he seemed as if he proved a point.

"I won't consider anything, until I get a name." I stood firm.

"Fine," he rolled his eyes, "Its Tomaz, happy?"

I smirked, and tried harder to hold my laughter in.

"Well, Tomaz, the answer is no. It was no, and it will always be no. You seem to be just fine after fifteen years, you should be able to last the rest."

He shrugged, and walked behind a large tree. I pursued, but he was gone. Then came the sound of marching feet.

From the trees, came soldiers, the archetypal roman soldier, only with no armor. I was struck with fear at first, but then came the realization that this was only a dream, one which I had total control over. With a smile, I swung my sword, held up my shield, and began the slaughter.

Even to this day, I don't care to recall that fight, there were blood and screams. Both of which were too real for me, and unmatched in all my experiences since. But, with a heightening of difficulty after each fatal slash, I conquered.

I had nicks and cuts all over, and one particularly bad on my right arm. I leaned up against a large tree, and looked at it. It seemed serious enough for stitches. "That," ran my thoughts, stopping now and again for a breath, "Doesn't look good." I reasoned now, that this was different than a normal dream, and if I was killed, to the delight of Tomaz, I would not just wake up. I would be dead. Forever. Gone.

I slid down, sitting on the ground. Still panting, I thought to myself,

"If he wants to kill me, why doesn't he do it easily? A gun to my head?"

"Maybe," continued the train of thought, "Maybe he wants to do it this way." I lifted up my sword, it had streaks of blood on it.

"Maybe he has similar dreams to me, with 'Knight in Shinning Armor'?"

I smiled, knowing this had to be true, and stood up. With great confidence, knowing what Tomaz wanted to hear, I shouted;

"Tomaz! I've completed your test! Now, send me the next one!" I wanted him to show his face more than anything else.

The forest left, and the white void returned. After a moment's pause, "reality" came back. It was in the form of a large, dark hall, made of stone. There were massive, evenly spaced pillars all around. They cleared out in the middle, and made room for a long white carpet. I stood on this carpet, and when I turned around, I saw the carpet lead up to a tall throne. On it sat Tomaz, in a similar dress as I. He sat slightly at his side, one leg over the arm rest, his sword and shield at his feet.

"The saying goes, as I'm sure you're familiar with," he began, causally, "is, 'if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,'"

"I am familiar with that one," I admitted.

"I told you I know a lot about you," said Tomaz.

"Well, where does that leave us?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"Oh, not anywhere's in particular. We have to fight, to the death of course, and the winner will take possession of the body."

"Seems reasonable, I suppose."

"No tricks, though," Tomaz stood up, grabbed his weapons very lazily as he walked slowly down to me. "I mean, if you and I just have an imagination battle, we could both get killed," he stopped to think, "or it will last forever." He stopped until he stood close enough to have a normal conversation with.

"Neither of which, I am very fond of. Agreed?"

I nodded, which was a lie. My whole plan was to just put him in some sort of ridiculous "anti dream magic" bubble around him, and just leave him there. I would have done it then and there, but who knows? Maybe it wouldn't work, and then he would be open to getting me back, and the whole thing would fall apart.

"Good. Then, I suppose, we ought to get started." He said.

"Yep," I said, feeling the tension building.

Quickly, almost too quickly, he pulled a sword out of his sheath. I managed to jump back almost too slowly, and drew my own weapon. He screamed and charged at me, I parried. And that sentence right then can just about sum up the entirety of the duel. It ranged all over the hall, our swords singing with a swing, and shouting bitterly when they met.

Finding my shield a burden, I dropped it, after using it quickly in a few melee attacks, which proved ultimately ineffective. I threw it at Tomaz, bought a second, and ran in the opposite direction.

Knowing as little as I did about sword play, I knew I was beat. The only hope I had was getting the high ground. I ran to the throne. I hopped up, and turned to face my enemy. I didn't have to wait a second. He swung low, causing me to block in a way that aggravated my wound. I screamed, and toppled over, dropping my sword in the process. Taking the advantage, Tomaz held his sword up to my chin, and took the opportunity to deliver the quintessential final speech.

"So, are you ready to die? I hope you've kept that body nice and warm for me." He paused, for effect. I hoped he wouldn't notice my fingers slowly edging for my sword. "Any last words?" He finished.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked, in hopes of buying time. My fingers were slowly drawing the hilt of my sword closer.

"How about begging for your life?" he suggested.

"Or," I swallowed, giving false sense of security, "I could fight for it!" I shouted, taking a definite grip on my sword, and swinging it hard into Tomaz's calf. I pulled back, slicing open his leg, he screamed and collapsed backward. Standing up, I kicked away his sword, and put mine under his chin, to return the favor.

"See, I can't kill you, I might need you later." I mocked, "And I'm going to be nice," I put the tip of my sword on the top of his collar bone, in the small indent. I took a knee just next to him. He whispered;

"What are you going to do?"

I winked.

I visit him, sometimes. Even into my adult years, I visit him occasionally. But, I will admit, it does get less and less frequent. The last time I remember visiting him was perhaps a half year or so ago. Since my imagination weakens, I have something of a fear of visiting him. I fear, which might be a rather silly one, that with my weakened imagination, the magic that holds together his "Anti Tomaz-Escape" prison will fall apart. But, I suppose, if it does start to fall apart, I can just think up an "Anti Tomaz-Escape prison repair" kit.


End file.
